


A Night Away

by akanemi



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:19:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akanemi/pseuds/akanemi
Summary: If you are looking for Aramis/Anne soft porn, you are in the right place.Aramis is in charge of escorting the Queen to her religious retreat. A storm catches them off guard and they have to seek shelter in a cottage in the woods.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanda/gifts).



Constance knocks firmly on the door and waits for an answer that doesn’t come.

 

“Please don’t make me come in there, I have no business in your bedroom.” she mutters to herself.

 

After waiting a few seconds more, she lays down the jar of water, sighs and rests her hands on her hips.

 

“Aramis?” she whispers, close to the wood.

 

“What is it?” grumbles a rough voice coming from next door.

 

“Oh, Porthos, did I wake you up?” Constance draws a nervous smile. “I have a message for Aramis.”

 

Porthos rubs his eyes, still half asleep, frowns and groans, annoyed.

 

“I will do it”

 

Not giving her time to answer back, he bangs on the door with his enormous fist several times.

 

“WAKE UP ARAMIS”

 

Constance looks up in despair and gives up with a defetead gesture.

 

“I could have done that, you know? I was trying not to wake everybody up so early in the morning”

 

Porthos grunts.

 

“It’s 4. Time to get going. Where is your farmer boy? d’ARTA-” Porthos is stopped by an emphatic look from the young woman.

 

“The cadets are still in bed. Try not waking up the whole household, Porthos.”

 

“...Sorry m’am...”

 

The door finally opens. Aramis stares at his two friends.

 

“Is everything alright, Constance?” he asks, with a worried frown.

 

“YOU HAVE A MESSAGE” answers Porthos, disappearing into his room.

 

Constance looks for something in her big pockets and hands him a little envelope.

 

“A message from the Queen.” she says, softly.

 

Aramis blinks twice and takes it.

 

“Thank you… ah… I… thank you.”

 

Constance smiles and nods. “Be careful.”

 

The musketeer assents and closes the door behind him. He scratches his stubble, his heart pounding, and opens the letter.

 

Musketeer,  
You are to appear in the palace immediately. The honour of scorting the Queen in her prayers today is yours.

 

 

* * *

Anne gets dressed with the help of two other women. While she sits on an adorned chair in front of her toilette, they cover her in soft layers of cotton, gauze, and silk. A third one brushes her pale gold hair and arranges it in a simple, but elegant, updo, as instructed. The Queen glimpses at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes shine. One of her dressers inquires after her health, subtly implying that if she is running a temperature she might have to reconsider her trip today.

 

“I am quite well, thank you.”

 

She stands up abruptly, and the other women move away and bow.

 

“That will be all.”

 

Once they are gone Anne takes a moment to compose herself. She might as well be feverish, it surely feels that way. However, she knows it probably is not sickness what is making her hands tremble. She tries to keep them busy while they get her horse ready, sitting down next to the window and opening up the Bible, but the letters dance in front of her.

 

“Your highness, the Musketeer Aramis is here” announces a servant. Anne is up before he can finish the sentence. Behind him, his head respectfully down, Aramis awaits.

 

“Wonderful. We shall begin the journey right away, then.” she says. “You may leave us.”

 

Alone in the room, with Aramis’ sight fixed still on the floor, Anne’s eyes wander on his elegant features, his honest face, tan by hard work outdoors, bruised with the memory of epic fights and friendly quarrels. So different from the pale, powdered and affected faces she has to endure day after day in the palace. Aramis fills the room with warmth and affection, with the real world she yearns for.  
“Musketeer.” She says, allowing him, with a swift gesture of her hand, to lift his eyes. Still, although he nods and relaxes his posture slightly, he respectfuly lowers his gaze when she approaches.

 

“Your Highness. I am at your service.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Aramis follows her dutifully outside, where a servant helps her mount the white horse that will take her to the abbey, guided by the musketeer. The place is not too far away, and the route is safe. Nevertheless, the queen’s clothes are not excessively rich and her face is covered by a hood. They travel in silence through the woods. The bright morning light struggles to reach the ground amidst the leafy trees, and the unremitting work of birds, squirrells and wild rabbits paints the scene with a familiar musicality. The Queen plays with the sunrays in her fingers, abstracted in the pastoral beauty.  
“It won’t last long.” says the musketeer.

 

She looks at him, surprised.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

He looks up at her for a brief second, then at the sky.

 

“It’s getting cloudy. A summer storm is approaching. We will probably have already arrived when it starts, don’t worry, your highness.”

 

The horse seems to understand his words, and gets restless with the prospect of water. Aramis caresses her loin to calm her down, and after a while, they can resume. It doesn’t take long until the Queen realises he was right. Big clouds appear in the sky above them, and before long the earth trembles with the vibrations of thunder. The horse neighs and stops in the middle of the road.

 

“Come on, hey, I’m right here, it’s only water” the musketeer whispers to the horse, trying to reassure her, to no avail. The animal, much more used to being pampered than to walk through the woods, decides this is beneath her. She shakes her head.

 

The Queen looks uneasy.

 

“Wouldn’t it be wiser iif we returned to the palace?”

 

“We are too far into the forest now, if-” he is interrumpted by two big drops of water, followed by a sudden downpour.

 

“If I remember correctly, there is a little cottage not far from here.”

 

Aramis, grateful for a solution, nods.

 

“Could your highness guide me?”

 

“The horse is too nervous, I have never been an expert horseman, but you are. She might be more comfortable if you ride her.”

 

Aramis nods, and without a moment’s hesitation, mounts the horse right behind the Queen. He takes off his leather jacket and puts it round her shoulders, forgetting protocol in the urgency of the moment. He takes the reigns, and in doing so brushes her side. The queen’s heart skips a beat. She can feel his warmth through the few layers of clothing, his torso pressed against her back, and his agitated breathing in her nape. They ride under the rainstorm until finally finding the little cottage. The musketeer guides the horse to the stable. He shakes visibly, soaked to the bone, his linen tshirt sticking to his muscles. After he dismounts, he offers the queen his hand.

 

“Your highness, if I may...” he says, blinking to stop his wet hair getting into his eyes.

 

She supports her weight on his shoulder. The musketeer hesitates for a second but finally places his hands on her waist to help her get down, averting his eyes. Once her feet touch the ground, however, he looks at her in the eye. The queen doesn’t blink. He struggles within himself and mumbles an apology, but she doesn’t let go of his shoulders, and his hands, still on her waist, do not shake anymore.

 

“Musketeer, you are drenched.” she says, with a little smile.

 

“There are many musketeers, your highness, only a Queen.” He answers, averting his eyes.

 

“... Aramis.”

 

“Yes, your highness?”

 

“Look at me.”

 

He frowns, nods and moves away.

 

“You should get inside. I will stay here with the horse, she is nervous.”

 

She looks at him, unsure, and slightly hurt.  
“Very well. Be so kind as to light the fire first, please.”

 

They get inside, Aramis carrying several logs, which he carefully places in the fireplace. The Queen takes off his jacket and leaves it on one of the chairs. She sits down and watches him work. The wood is wet and it takes him a few tries before managing to get the fire running, but he finally accomplishes it. He stands up, brushes his hair from his face and walks to the door.

 

“Aramis, stop.” the queen commands, standing up.

 

He stops, his hand on the door lock, his back against her.

 

“Please, stay.” she says, softly.

 

The musketeer swallows several times before turning around and looking at her.

 

“I… I musn’t. I can’t.”

 

The Queen walks up to him, her eyes shining with emotion.

 

“Do you despise me so?”

 

“Anne, you know that is not true. You know it.” he answers, his voice tender, her name sweet on his lips. “Please...”

 

She lifts her hand and touches his cheek. At the contact, Aramis closes his eyes instinctively. She cups his face, caressing his wet skin with her thumbs.

 

“Aramis… it is my wish. My utmost wish. It is my daydream and my deepest yearning. I cannot face another day knowing...”

 

He leans forward, making their foreheads touch. She smiles, grateful, and exhales.

 

“I would do anything for you, Anne.” He holds her waist, and she leans forward, their lips close to the touch.

 

“Just be by my side. Don’t leave me, Aramis.” she whispers, before kissing him, long and deep, as if by virtue of the contact the world around and behind them disappeared and turned into something rich and strange. A universe of possibilities Anne could not get enough of.

 

Aramis’s hands struggle not to wander, as if their vast experience commanded them to follow the well known paths. Anne’s, however, feel themselves at ease to explore and uncharted territories. She grabs his shirt, pulling it up, while Aramis moves them closer to the fire without breaking the kiss. When it falls down, she moves slightly away to catch her breath, flushed, her hand on his naked chest to balance herself. Aramis kisses her forehead to give her space and brushes away some locks of hair, taking his time to caress with his fingers her jaw’s curve, long neck and shoulders. After a few seconds of pause, Anne’s hands move up and down his stomach, admiring the muscles under the soft skin, tracing the memories of the multiple white scars. Aramis closes his eyes at her touch and bends forward to gently kiss her neck, making her bit her lip to stiffle a moan.

 

“Anna...” he whispers with a hoarse voice, his lips close to her ear, not a name but a prayer.

 

He moves his lips from her neck to her chest and her stomach, kissing the wet layers of he dress, and kneels down before her.

 

“¿Puedo…?” he asks, looking up, his cheek resting on the inner side of her thigh.

 

She gasps for air before nodding, and holds on to the side of the table right behind her. Aramis takes her leg and slowly moves up the skirt. Anne stiffles another moan as his fingers brush her naked skin. He takes her one of her stockings and delicately pulls it down. He repeats the motion with the other. Once both pieces of horsiery are on the floor, he trails up her inner thigh with soft kisses. Anne grabs the table, and gasps when she feels his lips down on her.

 

“Ara...Aramis...” she moans, as he accelerates the rythm, guided by her body’s signs. Anne lets go of the table to hold on to his still wet hair, unwillingly pressing him against her. She moans loudly and cries his name while he continues working until she climaxes and her legs fail her. He holds her by her waist until she has caught her breath and lies down on the floor next to him, still gasping, her eyes wide open.

 

Aramis caresses her side while she calms down, drawing shapes along her stomach, his eyes, hungry for her, grateful for her, admiring. Anne laughs softly, and kisses his chin and the side of his lips, her hand trailing down his stomach. Aramis gasps when she takes hold of him. She kisses him in the mouth while her hand works in swift motions under the rough cloth of this trousers. He moans in their kiss, and closes his eyes. Her movements become faster, and she, unconsciously, moves her hips against his side. Aramis moves his body ever slightly to accomodate her and touches her down with two fingers. Anne moves her hips rythmically to the movement, as she increases her hand’s. Aramis comes with a moan. It takes a little longer for Anne, but she does as well, and they lie in a tangle of legs and arms on the floor, gasping, holding each other hand’s.

 

After a while, Aramis stands up and finds a blanket to cover them both. They lie in front of the fire, Anne resting her head on the musketeer’s chest, listening to the drumming of his heart, while she draws circles on her naked back. Tomorrow, they will resume their lives, the farce in which they see each other in the palace and she pretends not to notice his eyes on her lips, and he pretends not to know how she yearns for him.

 

But tomorrow is still a night away.

**Author's Note:**

> Amanda would pay for this.  
> -  
> Aramis calls Anne "Anna", Anne in Spanish, and also says "puedo?" (may I?). Anne was the daughter of the Spanish king and queen and spoke her language. She actually had some difficulties improving her French. Why do I care so much about linguistic details and not about other things? Well... Anyway, since in the BBC The Musketeers Santiago Cabrera, who plays Aramis and also speaks Spanish fluently, has several lines in this language (would Aramis know Spanish? Probably not?) I added it here. Because... we are among friends, we can say it, it's kinda hot. It doesn't sound hot when I speak it. But when... anyway. Okay. Goodbye.
> 
> Apologies to canon Ana, who was very religious. Don't look.
> 
> Spot the Shakespeare reference!


End file.
